


In Dreams

by TheAvalonian



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e12 The Diamond of the Day, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Immortality, M/M, Series Finale, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 08:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvalonian/pseuds/TheAvalonian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Arthur is dead, and Merlin is forced to live on in solitude. But at night, Merlin dreams. And his dreams might not be as one-sided as he thinks. (A post-finale fix-it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself: this is another series finale fix-it. It was inspired by a dream of my own, as well as several songs off the unofficial Merthur soundtrack. Especially 'Little House' by Amanda Seyfried.
> 
> If you're looking for hardcore slash, this is probably not for you. That's not what this story is about - this is a quieter, more contemplative piece that fixes Merlin's loneliness, and brings together two souls that (in my opinion) are entwined in every way possible. I could not bear for them to be parted, and from now on, they won't be.

_The first night, Merlin doesn't sleep._

_He stands at Avalon's shores, watching as his entire life floats away into oblivion. He doesn't feel the burn in his legs, and the tears have long since stopped falling._

_All that is left for him here is to stand vigil for his King; his Arthur, his everything._

_He is afraid of the sunrise. He does not know what the day will bring, but he fears that it will take him away from here. Back to a life which Merlin can no longer call himself a part of, now that he is merely one half; unwhole. Broken._

_But morning does come, as mornings always will. And as the sun crests over the isle of Avalon, Arthur's boat slips into the mist and out of sight – suddenly, mercilessly, like how Arthur's soul was ripped from his body right in front of Merlin._

_This is when Percival finds him._

*

Merlin went back to Camelot with Percival. There was no use staying at Avalon, not when Arthur was gone. There was no use doing anything, Merlin knew – so when Percival begged him to return, to stand before the Queen and bear witness of Arthur's passing, Merlin did not refuse. It was what Arthur would have wanted him to do.

He did not attend Guinevere's crowning.

Instead he lay in his bed, in his room, having been manhandled by Gaius after the older physician had watched him collapse after leaving the throne room earlier.

Merlin had stood tall and still while telling Guinevere of Arthur's final moments. As she had stared unseeing, a hand over her mouth as she desperately tried to contain her sobs, Merlin had not moved a muscle, not daring to let himself reach out in fear of falling and never being able to stop.

Luckily Leon had been there, at Gwen's side, and when he had put his arms around her she had not refused him. Merlin was glad.

But the moment he had been dismissed, Merlin had sagged against the wall, unable to hold himself up for another moment. Gaius had enlisted Percival's help to get Merlin back to their chambers, and now here he was.

He did not want to sleep. He did not want to let oblivion claim him, too afraid of waking up and forgetting what had happened, of feeling even for a moment that nothing had changed, that he still had a King to serve, a reason for getting out of bed.

He did not want to know what memories waited for him when he closed his eyes.

Merlin wasn't even aware of his eyes falling shut before they opened again and he blinked, confused, taking in his surroundings.

He was not in Camelot anymore.

Merlin was standing in what appeared to be a cabin – a fire was blazing and he felt the heat of it on his face. It smelled vaguely of pine wood, and spices, and something else so undeniably _home_ that it made Merlin's chest hurt.

 _What a strange dream_ , he thought, because that is what this must be. But of all the dreams he feared he might have, this was not one of them. Oddly familiar as this place felt, Merlin was certain that he had never even been here before.

The fire was the only thing lighting up the room, and areas of it were bathed in shadows. Merlin tried to look into the corners, to make out the shapes in the darkness, but the more he stared the darker it seemed to get, and he felt his thoughts go foggy, his senses slipping... he shook his head to clear it, and his eyes sought the fire; naturally drifting to the only source of light.

He was alone in the room, it seemed. And yet... for the first time in days, Merlin did not feel alone at all.

Behind him, he noticed, there was a door. Merlin turned around to regard it; it seemed to lead outside. He cocked his head, curious. What would be on the other side? The windows showed only darkness – but it was night, after all, so that was not unexpected.

As he touched the handle, Merlin heard a sound behind him, and tried to turn around – but he felt a surging in his navel and bright white light filled his vision and before he knew it he was on his back, in his room, in Camelot, gasping up at the ceiling.

An echo of a whispered _Merlin_? rang in his brain.

Sleep did not come again that night.

*

Merlin was distracted all day. There was plenty to do; the kingdom was in an upheaval, and as Gaius told him briskly (Merlin had heard him blow his nose repeatedly last night and tactfully did not mention it), and they would need Merlin to pull himself together and help protect Guinevere from the usurpers that would undoubtedly be vying for her throne.

There was a part of Merlin that wanted to refuse; he wanted to rave and scream that nothing mattered, that this was not his fight anymore and that Gaius did not understand what Merlin had lost.

But one look at Gwen – beautiful, wonderful Gwen, who had learned of her husband's death the day before and was already standing tall and proud and strong for her people – reminded Merlin that they still had something to fight for. That there still was a bit of Arthur's legacy left to protect, and that Merlin was still needed here.

It was the least he could do, and so he tried. But his mind kept flashing back to his dream; that room, that breath of a whisper that might have been his own name.

That night, he went to bed early, though he could not quite explain to himself why.

*

Merlin should not have been surprised by what his mind would choose to dream, but it did not stop him from letting out a choked sob when his eyes fell on Arthur.

He noted absently that he was in the cabin again; the same smell of spices and feeling of warmth invaded his senses, and there seemed to be more light in the room, illuminating every corner and showing Arthur, clear as day, just as Merlin remembered.

He doubted he could ever forget.

Merlin only stood there for a second, smiling slightly, letting himself sink into the dream and allow himself to feel the relief of Arthur – Arthur as he remembered him best, in his white tunic and soft breeches, his hair soft and clean, his eyes bright and _alive_.

“This is a dream,” Arthur breathed, and he was looking back at Merlin with the same awed reverence as Merlin was sure was showing on his own face.

“I know,” Merlin whispered, letting out a shaky laugh. “Don't remind me.”

“I missed you,” Arthur said after a moment. But he didn't move, almost as if he were scared of breaking the moment, of making Merlin disappear. Just as Merlin was scared, too.

“Arthur, I'm so sorry,” Merlin gasped, feeling the tears fall hot on his cheeks – and this really was a strange dream – and Arthur did move then, making an aborted motion with his hand as though he couldn't help himself.

Usually, in Merlin's dreams, Arthur never could.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, “Stop. If I only have this moment with you, I don't want to spend it on apologies.”

Merlin frowned. “This is my dream, you can't decide what we do in it.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “This is hardly _your_ dream, Merlin, don't be ridiculous.”

Merlin couldn't help the splutter that escaped him; of all the dreams he could have had about Arthur, his subconscious chose to make them bicker? He supposed that was appropriate - it was one of the things he'd miss most.

Arthur continued to stare at him for a moment longer, then his eyes swept around the cabin. “What is this place?” he mused, as if to himself. “Who built it?”

“Does it matter?” Merlin found himself asking.

Arthur laughed softly. “No. No, I suppose it doesn't.”

His eyes found Merlin's again and Merlin never wanted to look away. This was all he wanted, he realised. To look into Arthur's eyes and never see the light leave them.

“Arthur...” he started, but then he felt it again, that horrible pull, and Arthur opened his mouth as if to reply but Merlin was already gone.

When Merlin woke up, it was morning, and Arthur was gone. He rubbed his face, trying to remind himself that it had been a dream, but that it was over now.

He spent the day waiting, desperately, for night to fall again. Praying that his dreams would allow him a few more moments of gazing into those blue eyes, of letting himself fall.

*

“This cabin,” Arthur said, running his hand over a lamb skin (Merlin wondered if it felt as soft as it looked) which covered the back of a chair, “it feels familiar. Almost as if I have been here before.”

When Merlin had opened his eyes and found himself in the same room as the two previous nights, he had been relieved, but he had not been surprised. That was the nature of dreams, he supposed (although he had never had a dream before which had felt quite like this).

“It reminds me of my mum's house, in Ealdor,” Merlin murmured, and Arthur looked up at him for the first time since he had entered.

“What are you doing here, Merlin?” he asked, looking at Merlin with an unreadable expression.

Merlin shrugged. “I'm dreaming of you, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a humourless laugh. “Right. I've thought about that. It's a good theory, Merlin, but I'm afraid this can't be your dream.”

Unable to help himself, Merlin stepped forward, letting his own hand reach out to touch the lamb skin (and it was indeed as soft as he had imagined), his own fingers inches from Arthur's. “And why is that?” he asked lightly, humouring his subconscious.

Arthur frowned at him, searching his gaze. “Because even when you go, I'm still here,” he said slowly, watching Merlin carefully as if trying to gauge his reaction.

Merlin snorted. “That is just what imaginary Arthur would say though, isn't it?”

But there _was_ something strange about this dream, he had to acknowledge. When awake, Merlin's hours were spent slowly, and it felt as if he was in physical pain from the loss and heartache he felt. But here, even though he knew it was a dream, he felt lighter than air. Here, Arthur was safe, and alive, and it felt _so real_ – more real than anything else had felt since Arthur had died in his arms.

Arthur's bark of laughter startled him out of his thoughts. Merlin's eyes fell on Arthur's adam's apple, bobbing in exactly the way he remembered.

That was something else different about these dreams, Merlin realised as he swallowed. Arthur hadn't touched Merlin once. Usually there'd be casual brushes of their shoulders, a hand on an arm, a light cuff to the head. In here? Arthur seemed afraid of touching him - almost if he was as worried as Merlin was that the moment he did, the other man would disappear.

“I suppose that is a good point, Merlin,” Arthur smiled. But as Merlin watched him, Arthur's face fell. “I remember it all, you know. I remember Camlann, and Morgana, and you... I know you're a sorcerer, Merlin.” Merlin sucked in a breath, but Arthur's eyes were calm, and held no resentment. “I know you tried to save me,” Arthur continued, “but that it was too late. I remember asking you to hold me.”

Arthur did reach out then, and he slowly touched one finger to the back of Merlin's hand, trailing it lightly upwards. Merlin gasped and heard Arthur do the same; this definitely did not feel like a dream.

“Are you doing this, Merlin?” Arthur whispered. “Is this magic?”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, tearing his eyes away from where Arthur's finger seemed to be burning a pattern into his skin to find Arthur's eyes, “I promise you, I'm not doing this. I wouldn't know how.”

“I believe you,” Arthur murmured. “You couldn't have known about this place.”

“The cabin?” Merlin asked, feeling suddenly breathless; the sensations of Arthur's warm touch and his eyes boring into Merlin's own threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't really make sense of Arthur's words.

“It was what I imagined,” Arthur said, nodding, using his free hand to gesture at the room. “When I used to dream of... of leaving,” he added, a faint tinge to his cheeks, his eyes downcast as if in embarrassment. “I thought of a cabin just like this, far away from everything, where we could just... live, and grow old, away from it all.”

“We?” Merlin couldn't help but ask, and Arthur's blush intensified.

“Well,” Arthur said, suddenly brisk, and removed his hand from Merlin's (which suddenly felt a lot colder), “I'd need someone to do the housework.”

Merlin laughed. “Even in my dreams you're a prat,” he said wonderingly. “That's not usually the case, you know.”

Arthur opened his mouth as if to reply, but shut it again, cocking his head to the side. Looking town between amusement and exasperation. “Didn't you hear me before, Merlin? This isn't your dream.”

Merlin sighed, turning to lean his hand against the chair. “I wish you were right, Arthur, but...” he swallowed. “We both know it has to be. What else could it be? You-” _died_ , he meant to say, but he found that the word got caught on his tongue. Since that day standing in front of Guinevere, Merlin had been unable to even utter the word.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, a note of intent in his voice as he moved to the table, his fingers digging into the wood as they used to when he was thinking. “When you're not... _dreaming_ , let's say... where are you?”

Merlin swallowed. He really didn't want to do this, not here, in this refuge from reality. But Arthur continued to regard him with an intensity that he had never been able to refuse. “In Camelot,” he replied, and Arthur nodded as if this was the answer he had been expecting. “It's been... a few days, since, you know,” Merlin trailed off, his voice thick.

“And what of Guinevere? My men? Gaius?” Arthur asked, all business. Merlin thought it was odd behaviour, sure, but then again, Merlin had always admired Arthur's sense of duty. It made sense that the Arthur in his dreams would be the same way, even if it might not have been what Merlin had come to expect from his dreams of the king.

“Gwen is...” Merlin searched for the right word. _Fine_ seemed at once both so completely inadequate and at the same time strangely fitting. Because even if she was a wreck right now, even if her eyes were puffy and red every morning, she _would_ be fine. “She's strong,” Merlin finally said, and he saw something shift in Arthur's gaze. Clearly he was hearing everything that Merlin wasn't saying. “She will be fine, Arthur.”

“I know she will,” Arthur nodded. “Because she has you.”

For some reason, that simple statement made tears well up in Merlin's eyes. “As long as she needs me,” he agreed, nodding solemnly.

“Gwaine is dead, isn't he?” Arthur added after a moment, his expression blank.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Now, you just gave yourself away. How could you know that?” For some reason he felt incredibly disappointed, even if there was no way this could be anything but a figment of his imagination. He _knew_ this. And yet...

Arthur shrugged. “I don't know. I just know it, just like I know Morgana is dead, and Mordred, and my mother and father. But it doesn't hurt like it used to, Merlin. It's hard to describe.”

“Because you're not real,” Merlin countered, but his words seemed to fall flat. The fire crackled in the hearth. The room smelled vaguely of chestnuts.

Arthur shook his head. “I know this can't be real, Merlin. I know that I died. But I also know, deep inside, that it is not the same. I did not die like Gwaine died, or Uther, or Elyan. I did not die like one day Guinevere will die, and Gaius, and Leon, and Percival. Do you believe that?”

And as Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes, so imploring, Merlin found that he did believe it. Wasn't that what the dragon has said? “One day you will rise again,” Merlin whispered.

“I know,” Arthur said. “And maybe this is where I wait.”

Merlin's mouth fell open. He meant to counter Arthur's words, meant to look for reasons why it could not be the case, but he found none.

He did, however, feel the lurch. Arthur took a deep breath as if steeling himself, and nodded. He understood, like Merlin did, that it was time to go.

Merlin only hoped that this would not be the end, that he had not been brought here only to find this out.

*

When he woke in his bed, Merlin's eyes shot open.

One day, Arthur would return. He had not believed Kilgharrah, not really. But if his dreams were real, if somehow Merlin was really seeing a part of Arthur which was still in existence, even if not in this realm... that was _hope_. It was something.

When he met Gaius for breakfast, it was the first time he had smiled in days. It was small and tentative but it was there, and Gaius looked surprised and relieved to see the expression on Merlin's face.

When he met Guinevere and Leon in the council chambers, he felt a twinge of guilt – he was pretty sure that no one else were privy to dreams like his – but in some ways, Merlin felt like this, whatever it was, was not for them. It was for him and Arthur, and their destiny.

*

Arthur was sitting in the chair, staring into the fire. He did not stir when Merlin arrived, not even when Merlin came over to sit on the floor, letting himself soak in Arthur's presence.

“If it is not I who is the product of your mind, is it the other way around?” Arthur asked after a beat, his eyes not leaving the fire.

“What?” Merlin asked.

“How do I know you're really here, Merlin? That I'm not just imagining you?”

Merlin snorted. “If this was your subconscious, would you really imagine _me_ here with you, of everyone?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said, turning his head to regard Merlin with an expression so sombre, so devoid of humour, it made Merlin shiver even in the heat of the open flames.

After a moment, he continued. “Maybe I have unfinished business with you,” Arthur mused. “Maybe there are things I need to tell you before I... let go.”

Merlin shuddered, the idea chilling. “Then I don't want you to ever tell me,” he said. “I don't want you to go.”

It was an admission he never would have made like this, with no banter or bickering as a shield between them – but here, in this place, everything was different.

Arthur continued to regard him for a long moment, saying nothing. Then he smiled. “You do realise that this is really happening, don't you? That this is really me?”

When Merlin only continued to stare, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions (he wanted to believe Arthur so badly, he wanted to believe that this room was as real as he felt – but he was asleep, right now, in his room in Camelot, and it could not possibly be true), Arthur rose from his chair and came to kneel in front of Merlin; his movements slow as if Merlin were a wild animal and he didn't want to spook him.

“Arthur...” Merlin started, but the next moment he found himself pulled forward, and then his face was pressed against Arthur's shoulder as the other man held him tightly. And as Merlin breathed in deeply he smelled only _Arthur_ , and the muscles he felt through Arthur's thin tunic were exactly the way he remembered it, and Arthur was so warm, his heartbeat strong and even against Merlin's own chest.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed in reply, his own face pressed into Merlin's hair, and he seemed to breathe in deeply just as Merlin had done. “I thought it was the end of us, Merlin, I truly did,” he continued, his voice shaky in a way Merlin had rarely heard it.

“You died,” Merlin whispered leaning his face against Arthur's neck, letting himself sink into the embrace. There was no decorum to observe here, no fronts to hold up or distances to maintain. That had all gone out the window with _just hold me_ , and oh, the memory of those words only made Merlin cling on to Arthur even more tightly.

They held each other like this for a long time. Merlin knew that the lurch would come soon, and he was beginning to dread the moment, only holding Arthur tighter, never wanting to leave.

As if sensing his thoughts, Arthur pulled away slightly. “Look, Merlin, I don't know how much time we have...” he began, but Merlin shook his head vigorously.

“I'll be back,” Merlin told him firmly. Trying to make himself believe that he _would_.

Arthur nodded. “I've got a feeling you will, yes. But look, Merlin, this is important. I don't know why I'm here, or why you're here, but just remember...” he trailed off, searching for the words. “This isn't life, Merlin. I don't know _what_ it is, but when you leave, I... you wake up, Merlin. I'm still here, in this place, and I am _fine_ but I'm not really here. Neither of us are. But your life goes on. And I need you to live it, alright? Even if you never come back here again.”

Tears were burning in Merlin's eyes but he didn't even care; how could he, after everything they had been through? “I never want to wake up,” he admitted shamefully.

“But you _will_. And the living need you, Merlin.” Arthur was looking at him with that intent now, the drive which in life had made him a great king – in Merlin's eyes, the greatest king.

And Merlin understood what Arthur was asking. Guinevere needed him; Camelot needed him. Arthur needed him to do what he himself could not.

“I promise,” he said, trying to reflect back some of that same strength, trying to prove to Arthur that he was as brave as Arthur believed him to be.

“Good. That way I won't have to feel guilty about having you here,” Arthur said, his face transforming as a soft smile stole over his features.

And Merlin really wished that he could have asked Arthur what he meant by that, but this was the moment when he woke up.

*

Merlin asked Gaius about the dreams – or whatever they were.

Some small part of him had been afraid to speak of the dreams to anyone, terrified that they would tell him they were just that, that it was impossible for them to be anything else.

But after last night, Merlin was almost certain that what was happening was real, that Arthur was truly waiting to be called again and that for whatever reason, Merlin was being pulled to him in his subconscious state.

What he didn't know was _why_. And – although he didn't share this part with Gaius – he was desperate to know if there was a way to stop it from happening, so he could avoid this at all costs.

Gaius had raised his eyebrow at the revelation, and had of course tried to convince Merlin that it was his grief causing these repeated sightings; that it was in fact perfectly normal for someone who had experienced a tragic loss to dream of their loved one every night.

Merlin had coughed at the _loved one_ part but had otherwise made no interruption. Gaius was right. But as he tried to explain, these were not dreams. And while Arthur was dead, Kilgharrah's words kept coming back to him. _Arthur will rise again_. Maybe not today, or in a year, or in a hundred, but some day he would return. And surely, then, some part of Arthur must still linger?

Even Gaius could not find a fault with this argument.

What was still a mystery, Merlin thought as he blew out his candle that night and lay down in his room, anxiously waiting for sleep to claim him, was why Merlin was allowed to seek refuge from his loneliness with Arthur every night.

In his experience, the fates had never been that kind. But maybe he had been wrong.

*

Arthur would ask about Guinevere. Merlin would tell him about the good moments, the ones in which she was strong. He did not speak of the times when she crumbled; when it was only Merlin and Gaius and Leon there with her and she let her facade fall. He didn't need to – Arthur must already know.

When Queen Annis paid Gwen a visit, Merlin could not wait to fall asleep and tell Arthur about it. When Tristan returned to swear his allegiance to her and join her personal guard of knights, Merlin imagined Arthur's delighted smile, and he was not disappointed.

Every night for weeks, Merlin would close his eyes and let himself drift away, his mind slipping through the mists of Avalon, and when he blinked he was in that cabin, and Arthur was there, and Merlin could not believe how lucky he was.

It was a lot like it used to be. Just Merlin and Arthur alone in Arthur's chambers, talking about the kingdom, its people, anything and everything. Joking, laughing, sometimes just sitting in companionable silence, each drawing strength from the other's presence.

Neither voicing the thought that they were waiting; waiting for Arthur to return to the land of the living. And neither acknowledging that waiting alone would have been unbearable.

Maybe that was why this was happening, Merlin mused one night, as he and Arthur were lazing in front of the fire, lying side by side on the lamb skin. Maybe Albion's need for them would not be for a long while, and until then, they could not be left to wither away in heartache and bitterness.

As weapons of fate, they needed to be kept sharp. Merlin snorted at the image. Well, he thought, at least it was working in their favour.

Arthur turned his head at the noise, regarding Merlin curiously.

That was another thing about this place which reminded Merlin that it wasn't _quite_ real. Arthur was Arthur in every way but one: the worry was gone, the responsibility off his shoulders. Although he still wanted to know about the others, wanted to know how they were handling things in his absence, Arthur never expressed frustration that he was not there to do it his way.

When he had let go of the kingdom, accepted his fate and relinquished his power to Gwen, it seemed that he had truly _let go_. It wasn't that he didn't care, but he was, truly, at peace here. And Merlin was thankful for that. Because to Arthur, this did not feel like a prison. It felt like home, just as it did to Merlin.

“What are you thinking about?” Arthur asked, nudging Merlin's shoulder with his own.

“How much I like it here,” Merlin smiled. And he truly did.

“Me too,” Arthur replied, turning to lie on his back, his hands behind his head. “You know, I only feel the time pass when you're here,” he added, shooting Merlin a look.

“Oh.” Merlin had wondered, actually, what Arthur did when he was alone. He hadn't wanted to ask.

“Do you ever get tired? Your mind never gets to rest.”

Merlin shrugged. “Gaius asked me the same question. I just... when I wake up, I feel more refreshed than I ever did before this started. I can't explain it.” Merlin took a breath, not wanting to acknowledge any bad feelings, but he knew he had to say it or it would nag at him. “I sometimes feel overcome with guilt, when I am awake. Everyone else is missing you. Gwen still cries at night, I know it.” Arthur frowned, looking troubled. “But I get to see you.”

“Does she know?” Arthur asked. “About this? Me?”

Merlin shook his head. “Gaius thought it would be best...”

“Gaius is right,” Arthur sighed. “Guinevere doesn't deserve the fate of knowing that I am out there but cannot speak to her. She deserves to move on, and she will. She's a fighter.”

Merlin grinned, relieved that Arthur understood. “She truly will be alright, Arthur.”

“I know.”

They fell into a companionable silence, and Arthur shut his eyes, a small smile on his face. Merlin didn't think he could remember ever seeing him so relaxed.

“I don't know if I would be, though,” Merlin added, so quietly he wasn't sure Arthur had heard. But after a moment one of Arthur's eyes opened. “If not for this. Knowing you were gone, that I had lost you. Not knowing if I would ever see you again.”

“Merlin...” Arthur started, but it didn't seem like he knew what to say. He sat up slowly, crossing his legs and facing Merlin, frowning.

“The whole destiny thing, remember?” Merlin asked, hoping he could lighten the mood. But Arthur didn't smile, only reached out to put a hand on Merlin's arm, letting it rest there.

They had been doing that a lot, too. A solid touch, reminding them both that it was real; that they were really here.

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, seemingly using the word to ground him. Merlin steeled himself for the lecture on how he needed to live his life, how no man was worth his tears. But to his surprise, Arthur only said, “I know what you mean.”

It was enough.

Merlin smiled, and settled his own hand over Arthur's. The moment felt important, somehow, more than any other they had shared in this place, and Merlin found himself desperately hoping that morning would elude them a little bit longer.

“Thank you for not leaving me,” he said. “Thank you for not saying goodbye.”

“So you finally admit that I'm not imaginary,” Arthur grinned, and Merlin rolled his eyes at the smugness in his tone.

“I've already told you, imaginary Arthur is much less of a prat,” Merlin replied, enjoying the banter. But rather than letting his eyes flicker, as he would have done in the past, this time he kept them locked with Arthur's.

After a moment, Arthur turned his hand until he could entwine his fingers with Merlin; his gaze was still locked with Merlin's and his eyes were slightly narrowed as if in speculation.

There was no denying now that they were holding hands, but neither man felt the need to withdraw. There was no need to, not here.

“Arthur, I-” Merlin began, his throat suddenly dry- but at that moment he felt the familiar lurching in his stomach, that familiar light bursting behind his eyelids. Arthur clearly felt it too, his eyes widening before resolve settled into his features.

Merlin felt Arthur squeeze his hand tightly, and then he was gone.

*

Merlin spent the entire next day on edge, replaying that moment between him and Arthur in his mind. He sat at council meetings, he ate with Gaius, and he even took the time to visit Leon and Percival, who were training a new group of squires.

When he had realised that what he and Arthur had been allowed to have together was real, he had been filled with such a lightness as he had not thought possible. Although he had to go his days without Arthur, they spent every night together, and that was all Merlin could have ever asked for.

Except... there was something more. Something he hardly let himself imagine when Arthur had been alive (although ironically, back then he had been unable to restrain himself in his dreams, living out all the fantasies he could not quite suppress), and something which he hadn't thought Arthur would ever in a million years let himself act on, even if he _did_ feel the same way.

But now, now that Arthur was free from the obligations and expectations that his life had always demanded of him? Merlin knew that Arthur felt free, and maybe... maybe that freedom did not just extend to his duties to the crown.

Maybe they were both free, at long last, to break down this one barrier between them which neither of them had had the courage to do in the mortal realm.

*

“I have been thinking,” Arthur said without preamble when Merlin next entered the cabin, “of all the things I need to tell you.”

Merlin huffed out a nervous laughter, instinctively moving towards Arthur, as always needing the closeness. “What did I tell you about making your peace with me? It's not something we want to risk doing.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I don't want to make _peace_ with you, Merlin. What'd be the fun in that?” He sighed, stepping even closer, until only inches separated them. “I just don't want this to suddenly end without you knowing, Merlin. Knowing everything I felt, all of my regrets. Because in that final moment...” Arthur paused, searching Merlin's face - and when had he gotten _so close?_ Merlin sucked in a breath, unable to look away as Arthur's eyes darkened and he said, “all I could think of was what I would have done if we'd had more time.”

Merlin swallowed, and he watched as Arthur's eyes lowered to track the movement of his adam's apple moving in his throat. “And what was that?” he asked shakily, although he thought he might already know.

Arthur smiled. And then he kissed him.

Merlin sucked in a surprised breath as Arthur's lips closed over his own, and just had time to think _this definitely feels real_ before his brain switched off and he let himself give in, to years of wanting this, wanting Arthur in every possible way.

Arthur groaned as Merlin began to respond to the kiss, drawing the other man in closer and tangling his hand in Merlin's hair, caressing the back of his neck with the other.

When they finally broke apart, after what felt like years, they caught each other's eyes and laughed, neither able to contain their happiness.

And Merlin realised in that moment that this was for them; that this was their reward for giving their lives to the cause.

That they could have this, right here, and so much more. For as long as they had to wait.

*

_Soon, it is Camelot which feels like a dream._

_As decades, centuries pass before Merlin's waking eyes, he finds himself recalling Gwen, Gaius, Leon and the rest only as whispers, as memories of a life he has long left behind._

_He lives on, and wanders the world. He sees it change, but time passes in a peculiar fashion, he thinks. With nothing tying him to the world, he lets himself observe and learn and live, but none of it feels real. None of it feels right, because no man was meant to live forever._

_But at night, Merlin is where he wants to be. In the only place that feels real, and that stays as Merlin remembers it. With Arthur, where fate has allowed them to wait together, until they are once again called to action._

_And one day, Merlin will close his eyes and find himself in the cabin, but this time it will be empty save for the roaring fire keeping the shadows at bay._

_And he will allow himself a moment to stand and smile, to remember the good times before reaching out for the door handle and stepping outside at last; letting reality claim him for good this time._

_Because Arthur is waiting for him there._


End file.
